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on if he changed his mind.
    He’d left his car in the lot at Bishop Chicago since Paul and Ann didn’t live far and downtown parking was always at a premium. He dug out his keys. It had been a good evening, but it was time to call it a day.

    Bryce slowed and slid his keys back into his pocket. Heading home appeared to be on hold. Charlotte was leaning against his car.
    “I figured you were around,” she offered by way of a greeting.
    “I had dinner with friends.” And the rationale he’d just settled on for not pursuing Ginger bumped into reality. He was looking at the reason. Ginger was pleasant and comfortable, while Charlotte was dangerously unpredictable. Bishop felt his sigh deep in his chest. It was not a good thing to be attracted to what could be dangerous, but he had to admit that was part of what was going on.
    “Group two is here if you would like to help me unpack them.”
    “You don’t want to wait until tomorrow?”
    “I’m not in Chicago tomorrow.”
    He decided if she wanted to work tonight rather than sleep he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to change her mind. He’d help her get the job done. “As long as I don’t have to actually buy them for another ten days, sure.”
    She unlocked the back security door, punched in the code, and preceded him inside.
    White shipping boxes were lined up along the hallway wall. He counted as he walked toward the showroom. Thirty-two of them. “What’s your plan?”
    “Open a box, put them in a display case. Rearrange after I see what is here.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “It’s been a busy few weeks. I gathered what was interesting, wrapped it in bubble wrap, and put it in a box. You’re not the only storefront I’m filling, Bishop. I’ve mostly dealt with the odd collectibles these last couple weeks. I’m the proud owner of about fifty hurricane lamps, Hershey memorabilia, sixty-year-old Coca-Cola bottles, and enough empty old cigar boxes that I lost count at two hundred.”
    Bryce found a knife and opened the first box. “How did your grandfather die?”
    “Old age.”
    He looked up at her, saw the first flash of true humor on her face.
    “He did his own thing, Bryce, and lived life like he wanted to. I doubt he saw a doctor more than twice in his final years. If he was in pain, he never said. The official cause of death was a heart attack while he slept. He was ninety-two.”
    “Nice way to go.”
    “He would have thought so. I didn’t know him well. I didn’t know he was my grandfather until six years ago, and it’s hard to bridge a generational age gap even when you’re both willingto try. But I liked what I knew of him, even if he never did acknowledge my mom while she was alive.”
    Her mom had passed way. Bryce tucked away that information along with the little else he knew about her. He tugged at the tape around a ball of bubble wrap. “You have an interesting way of wrapping things.” He finally freed the coin inside and slid an 1820s gold piece onto a display tray.
    “There’s a story to the bubble wrap.” She didn’t bother to tell it, just slit open another box.
    “We’re doing well selling the first group of coins.”
    “Bishop—no offense—but I’m really tired of coins. Got anything else interesting to talk about?”
    “Your interesting, or mine?”
    She laughed and handed him back the knife. “You open the boxes, I’ll deal with the bubble wrap.”
    She sat down on the floor and pulled an open box over to her side, picked up the next wrapped ball.
    He started a new subject. “Where are your dogs?”
    “John’s got them.”
    He glanced at her hand. The way she said the man’s name sounded like more than just an old friend, but she wore no rings.
    “Always liked Irish setters?”
    “They’re friendly, normally quiet, and they like to keep you company. I prefer big dogs to small ones.”
    “I had a collie growing up, but cities are hard on dogs. I don’t have one now.”
    “Cities are hard on